He turned the strobe on.

The Combat Talon was coming just above the wave tops. The back ramp was already down, and the four members of the team were clustered just near the edge in a line, the two outermost with a solid grip on the hydraulic arm holding the ramp in place.

That grip tightened as the nose of the Talon abruptly went up and the pilots headed straight for the top of

Hono Mountain. The four jumpers also had night vision goggles on and static line parachutes strapped to their backs. They didn't have reserve parachutes because at the altitude they were jumping, if their main didn't open, there would be no time to deploy a reserve.

"One minute!" the crew chief yelled to the team, holding up a single finger.

Vaughn had to assume the IR strobe was working, because without his own night vision goggles, he couldn't see anything. He cocked his head as he heard the familiar sound of turboprop engines. He almost ducked as the Talon roared by low overhead, barely one hundred feet above the top of the mountain. He stared up and saw four parachutes pop open, halfway between him and where the plane had gone by. The jumpers hit the ground scant seconds later, three of them in the clearing, the fourth in the trees along the edge, not far from where Tai was hidden.

"I've got four jumpers," he transmitted to Tai.

"Over."

"Roger. I see them. Out."

Vaughn ran over to the closest jumper, who was trying to get to his feet.

"Goddamn," Sinclair cursed.

"That was low."

Vaughn helped him shrug off his harness.

"Good to see you guys."

"Not sure I can say the same," Sinclair said as one of the other jumpers came up.

"Let's go," Orson growled.

"No time for bullshitting."

The three gathered up the next jumper. Vaughn peered at the man in the dark but didn't recognize him. Orson wasn't making introductions.

"Where's the rest of the stick? Hayes? Kasen?"

"Hayes didn't accompany us."

Vaughn pointed.

"Someone went just off the edge into the trees."

He took the lead to make sure they didn't walk right across Tai's position. They scrambled to the edge of the mountain and immediately saw a parachute in a tree about thirty feet down. While Orson and the fresh face remained topside anchoring a rope, Sinclair and Vaughn carefully made their way down to the jumper dangling at the bottom of the risers. Vaughn immediately knew something was wrong, because the body dangled motionless. He reached out and grabbed a handful of risers, pulling the jumper closer to them. Sinclair cut the body free and they grabbed hold, keeping it from sliding down the mountain. Vaughn could tell by the way the man's head rolled that his neck was broken. He pulled the night vision goggles off the body and recognized Kasen.

"Fuck," Sinclair hissed, checking for pulse and finding none. They jammed the body against a tree growing out of the side of the mountain and Sinclair headed back up, using the rope to climb. Vaughn slid Kasen's goggles on and followed, glad he now had night vision capability.

Orson took the news of Kasen's demise exactly as Vaughn had expected – with no reaction. Orson turned to him.

"Where's the way in?"

Vaughn led the way to the air shaft, the other three following. They tied the rope off and threw it down into the shaft as insurance.

"You lead," Orson ordered Vaughn. He turned to Sinclair.

"You stay up here and get the Fulton gear ready. We might be coming out hot, so make sure you have the Talon on the horn to pick us up within two minutes."

Vaughn climbed into the tube and began heading down toward where he'd last seen Abayon.

The second team was spread out in the rear of another Combat Talon. It was following the same track as the one the first team had used, except at a much higher altitude, over 30,000 feet.

From Hong Kong to Okinawa to cross-loading onto this plane, the team had had little time for rest, so they used this opportunity to rack out. That is, until the loadmaster woke the team leader and told him they were one hour out from drop.

It was time to rig.

Foster was catching a nap on a cot in his office, and Royce had the entire Sim-Center to himself. He had the locations of both Talons on the display board. The first one was in a holding pattern twenty miles off of Jolo. The second was on a beeline for the island.

So far, so good.

Royce shifted the data flowing to the display, bringing up the SOSUS information once more. Once more all the submarines in the Pacific were displayed. And all were tagged except the one between Taiwan and mainland China.

Royce blinked as a dot suddenly appeared southwest of Oahu. It was green but not tagged. It flashed for several seconds and then disappeared from the screen.

Perplexed, he picked up his satphone and dialed his contact at fleet headquarters. He wasted no time on preamble, knowing that his contact would know his voice.

"What's the story with that brief contact that was displayed on SOSUS southwest of Oahu?"

There was a short pause.

"Wait one."

Another pause.

"The hydrophones picked up what was thought to be a submarine, but on checking was determined to most likely be a fishing trawler."

"I don't understand."

"Well, the contact just appeared out of nothing, which is weird, so it appears to be a glitch in the system. Also the sound is at very shallow depth. And the sound is a diesel engine and nobody uses those anymore in subs. We figure it's a fishing trawler that took on a heavy load and settled much lower in the water to trigger SOSUS. Why? Is there something I should know? We're focused on Johnston. We figure someone flew in and out of there, but Space Command has nothing for us."

"Nothing," Royce lied.

"I just was wondering. I'm checking on another operation. Out."

He shut the phone off.

That son of a bitch Abayon. Royce saw the pieces falling in place. He was going to try to re-create Pearl Harbor with the ZX. From the deck of the submarine, which he had probably bought from the dead boatyard in some third world country and rebuilt.

The only positive news was that from the brief location he'd had, Royce figured it would take six or seven hours for the sub to get close enough to Oahu to be able to disperse the nerve agent, which he assumed they would do from a sprayer on the deck of the sub. Probably park the damn thing right off of Diamond Head and let loose on Honolulu. That would get Abayon plenty of attention.

Royce reached for the satphone to call fleet headquarters to warn them, then remembered the message from the Organization. This was to be kept in house. And it was his responsibility.

Instead of dialing fleet headquarters, Royce turned to the laptop and typed in orders to be transmitted to the Combat Talon that would recover his Australian team off of Jolo Island.

Vaughn looked in the grate where they had seen Abayon and silently cursed when he saw the room was dark and empty. Still, he had to assume that wherever Abayon was bedded down for the night had to be close to his office. He used the crowbar he'd radioed the team to bring in to pry open the grate. Then he dropped into the office, MP-5 at the ready, infrared light on, revealing a clear desktop. Vaughn heard the others come in behind him and felt someone press against his side.